


I Knew You'd Come

by Veeebles



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), And a current one, Big City Steve, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Gay Sex, M/M, Shameless scene, Spit As Lube, Steve and Billy as a past relationship, Ten years after, Unsafe Sex, i cant tag, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veeebles/pseuds/Veeebles
Summary: His hair is longer. Still blond, still curled but it hangs down to his chest, swaying around in the light breeze. He’s taller, not quite as tall as Steve despite all the protesting he used to do whenever Steve told him he was shorter. He’s thicker, even from where he stands Steve can see the bulge of muscles beneath his clothes, where the denim hugs his thighs, the leather around his arms. Where he used to be washboard abs and toned muscle he’s down right built now. He still wears those stupid shirts, buttoned down to the navel and Steve can see the light smattering of chest hair - the same chest hair that Steve knows smells of his cologne because he used to spend hours with his face nuzzled against the impossibly soft strands, breathing him in. The necklace still glints on his chest, sliding across the contours of his pecks, golden skin still shining in the Hawkins’ grey. He just stands there, eyes dragging over Steve like they used to do, but his face is gentle. He’s smiling; soft and melancholic. His jaw is more defined, his blue eyes glinting."I knew you'd come."





	I Knew You'd Come

It has been years since he’s been here.

Hawkins seems like a timeless place. No buildings ever seem to change, no improvements, hardly any decay. The street he grew up on is still the same. His childhood home still has its wooden boards painted that off-mint colour he hates. It still stands nestled in among the same trees that Steve climbed as a child and if he cares to look, he knows the carvings of his name will still be there from when he took a pocket knife to them years ago. The town still has that empty look to it; colourless and featureless, a cookie cutter architect of plain walls and windows. It always looked like a paper town to Steve. He used to drive around in his Beamer, staring at the houses that all look thin and fake, like they were props from a movie set about to fall over and crumble at the slightest hint of wind. They never did, even with Hawkins’ cold winters, they remain, sturdy and old like rocks battered at by the sea.

The Quarry is the same too.

He leans over the edge of the outcrop, the inky black water glinting in the moonlight all the way down. The rocky walls rise around hm, rise from the water, meeting where he stands. He always felt like a giant from up here, looking down on the rocks, on the trees, on the water. He always found himself here, when the loneliness in his house was too much he would get in his car and drive and this was always where he found himself. It was solitary, quiet, calming. The trees rustle around him, echoing sounds from his past. The water trickles in the light breeze, the smell of the soil and pines filling his senses like old friends. He misses this place, misses the calm of the woods and the shelter of the trees, the hug of the darkness.

The city is too loud at night, too bright, it never feels like its asleep. It makes Steve’s skin itch, like if the city doesn’t sleep, then neither will he. Like the monsters he knew ten years ago have followed him there, restless in the shadows of alleyways, waiting to pounce. 

This was also their place; he and Billy’s. When things started up between them, this is where they would find each other. At first, it had just been some nameless thing; Billy was too full of rage and fear, telling Steve he was just a warm mouth, that if he ever told anyone about them, he would kill him.

Steve would scoff, hands on his hips, smirking at the blond, “really?” he’d say, “you think I’m that much of an idiot?”

Billy would grin, all tongue and teeth and tug him forwards by his belt loops, “dumb and pretty, just my type.”

Steve would laugh, shove at him slip a hand in to his jeans.

Steve fell for him hard and pretty much right away. He hadn’t planned on it. After Nancy, he didn’t think he would feel that way for anyone again. Kissing boys had been a thought to him, just a thought, preserved for the dark of night with his hand down the front of his briefs. When Billy came along, that thought had flowed in to his day to day, plaguing his mind until the guy was all he could think about. Weeks later, Steve was addicted to him.

He had always wanted more, hated the secrecy and the rush of it, always hurried encounters lest they get caught. Billy would kiss him one day then be shoving him to the ground during practice the next. For all the roller-coaster their relationship – if it could even be called that – had been, Steve had loved every moment of it. He loved Billy’s kisses, his voice, his smell. He loved fucking him, loved how he looked when Steve pushed in to him, mouth open, eyes closed, golden skin flushed. He loved his hard hits and his harsh words, the dysfunctional love he gave.

Billy Hargrove was a raging fire, fuelled by pain and anger and Steve had burned in it, wanting that fire to consume and scar him.

Despite his ways, Steve knew Billy loved him. He knew it every moment he had been with him. He felt it in his consuming kisses, watched his harsh words turn slowly into soft edged ones. He felt his hits turn in to soft caresses. He felt his kisses go from fierce and dominating to gentle and intimate.

He would have stayed there, if Billy had asked him to. Graduation had come and gone and Steve had wanted to leave, go to the city, make something of himself, become a writer. He told Billy one night, asked him to come too. He had refused. When Steve had made to leave, Billy’s hand had caught his arm. The brunette had turned, wanting those lips to move, that voice to ask him to stay, ask him to take him too, give him something, anything that would keep them together.

He hadn’t.

His fingers had released their hold and Steve had left the next day.

It has been ten years. Steve is now an editor at a top firm in New York, working on his own novel on the side. He calls back every so often, talking to his parents, to Dustin, Nancy, Joyce, Hopper. He’s never gotten up the courage to call Billy.

Then, one day, while sitting at his desk in his office, a letter had been deposited on his desk. It had Hawkins stamps, the paper yellowed and stained at the corners. He had opened it to read old, familiar lines, Billy’s voice forming like an echo in his mind as his eyes worked over and over each word until he had it memorised. Holding the paper like a bird with a broken wing, the ghost of Billy’s hands all over it.

A week later, as requested, here he is.

He tugs the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, shivering a little in the cool air. Its not cold, not quite, he’s just been standing here for a good fifteen minutes now. Hs leg jiggles with pent up, nervous energy, his eyes shifting about the treeline, searching for movement. He pulls out a carton of reds and tucks one between his lips. The zippo’s click echoes in the space and he feels the flame’s soft warmth as he leans in to light the end. He takes a long drag and sighs out the smoke in a steady stream, watching it curl and float in the air above him. He paces about, scuffing the soles of his boots on the ground, swaying back and forth from the edge of the outcrop, smoking as he goes.

The small snap of a twig has his head shooting up, eyes on the treeline and his heart skips a beat.

His hair is longer. Still blond, still curled but it hangs down to his chest, swaying around in the light breeze. He’s taller, not quite as tall as Steve despite all the protesting he used to do whenever Steve told him he was shorter. He’s _thicker_ , even from where he stands Steve can see the bulge of muscles beneath his clothes, where the denim hugs his thighs, the leather around his arms. Where he used to be washboard abs and toned muscle he’s down right _built_ now. He still wears those stupid shirts, buttoned down to the navel and Steve can see the light smattering of chest hair - the same chest hair that Steve knows smells of his cologne because he used to spend hours with his face nuzzled against the impossibly soft strands, breathing him in. The necklace still glints on his chest, sliding across the contours of his pecks, golden skin still shining in the Hawkins’ grey. He just stands there, eyes dragging over Steve like they used to do, but his face is gentle. He’s smiling; soft and melancholic. His jaw is more defined, his blue eyes glinting.

“I knew you’d come.”

Steve shivers at his voice; deeper, huskier, aged. He’s still smiling but he’s moving closer now. Steve’s heart leaps in to his throat and its as if not a day has passed. He _knows_ that look in those eyes, that curve in his mouth. He finds himself moving too, feet drawing him close to the guy like a magnetic force.

“I knew you’d come,” he says again, softer as he gets closer. Steve tosses away his cigarette.

Steve doesn’t break stride as he watches Billy’s eyes drop to his mouth, “come here.”

Then he’s pulling him in by the back of his head and he’s kissing him. And It’s just like Steve remembers. Billy’s kisses like he’s insatiably hungry and Steve is a delectable banquet. His lips are warm and firm and real. His tongue traces across the seam of his lips and they open with a small gasp. His tongue slides in to taste Steve’s and his mouth tastes like cherries and smoke and _Billy_ and it has Steve’s head reeling. His hand cups Steve’s jaw, slide around to the back of his head to hold him there and Steve’s hands tug him close. He feels familiar yet different against him. His body feels the same, the same slope of his back, the same swell of hips and curve of ass but he’s harder. His hands tangle in to those thick curls, pulling like he used to do and grins when Billy gasps into his mouth, moaning as he bites his bottom lip like he used to love.

Steve could easily lose himself in this, in the past. But reality burns back in to his mind making him break the kiss, shove Billy away and stumble back. Billy licks his lips, that tongue of his snaking out to do so in a way that is so hauntingly familiar to Steve. He looks Steve up and down, frowning as the brunet starts packing back and forth.

“The fuck?”

Steve glares at him.

“You think I haven’t moved on since I last saw you, Billy?”

A blonde brow quirks up, “no, I just thought that you’d be down with this since you responded to my letter, you’re here right?”

His voice holds that same snark, dripping in it, head coking in that attitude of his that simmers in his close kept anger issues and fire that runs through his veins.

“I’m not running back to you like nothing’s changed since I left.”

His face softens and his brows rise and he looks at Steve like he’s amused by this, coming close again, fingers sliding in to the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling his head down.

“Just stop.”

He leans up to lick at Steve’s lips, a small, teasing touch of his tongue. He does it again, then again until Steve is leaning in to it, seeking out his mouth once more, falling in to the call of his kiss. Billy’s hand slides down his throat, thumb brushing across and he squeezes slightly. It sends shivers cascading across Steve’s body.

He almost loses himself in this again, almost lets go and gives over to his desires. He reels back again, anger spiking.

“Fuck, Billy.”

The blond pulls his own bottom lip into his mouth and sucks, like he’s savouring the lingering taste of Steve on them and it curls something deep in Steve’s gut. He back away, needing to put some space between himself and this guy, the pull he feels to him too strong, too familiar. Billy just stands there, one hand tucked into the loops of his belt, blue eyes the darkest sapphire in the low light watching him pace back and forth.

“I’ve got my shit together, now, Billy. I’ve got a good job, a nice apartment in the city and I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That had his attention, eyes flashing, brows flying up, “a boyfriend?”

Steve nods, body thrumming in anxious, pent up energy. It’s a bit of a lie. He’s been seeing some guy from the office. Some blonde that reminds him so much of Billy but just isn’t enough. He’s not really committed to him, but he throws the excuse out, needing to set up some barrier between them, something that keeps Billy and his mouth away from him for a while so he can clear his head of him and remind himself how different his life is from how it was the last time he was in this town.

“Okay,” Billy nods, like Steve’s just told him some battle plan strategy that he has to mull over. He steps a bit closer, boots scuffing on the ground, stance cocky and so Billy that it nearly has Steve running right back into his arms. He smirks over to him, eyes hooded, dragging over him again before meeting his own. 

“What you doing here, then?” he challenges.

Steve doesn’t know what to answer.

“Hm?”

Steve glares at him. He bites his cheek and tries to think of something, anything that will keep him in the mind set he’s built up for the past ten years. But, this is Billy. _His_ Billy. The Billy that became his world and made him feel things he had never felt before. The Billy that was all fire and thunder that ignited Steve’s world and made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. The Billy that he had spent days wrapped up in, unable to get enough of, the Billy that he had been looking for in every meaningless hook up he had since, unable to forget about or move on from the whole time he had been living in New York. The Billy he had dreamed about night after night and had missed like _hell_.

He surged forwards grabbing that stupid shirt and pulling the boy back to him. He kissed him like he had been dreaming of doing for years and revelled in the way those arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, clever tongue licking into his mouth, a moan rumbling against his chest.

“Tell me goodbye,” Billy challenges him, ruthlessly between kisses and Steve tugs hard on those curls, inwardly smirking at the loud groan of pain it elicits and pulled away from his mouth, glaring at him once more.

Billy just grins, “what?”

Nothing. Steve had nothing. He’s right. He can’t say goodbye. He had been trying for ten years to move on from him and he couldn’t. Not matter what, Billy was it for him. The guy’s a cocky asshole that drives him mad and makes him want to fight. But he is everything to Steve. He’s the guy that told him his father was an asshole for making Steve feel stupid and that his parents didn’t know what they were missing when they were absent from his life. This was the Billy that had pushed him to do better, to _be_ better, This was the Billy that had tutored him in his classes because he was so fucking smart and got Steve to A grades that got him in to the NY University he had wanted to go to. This was the Billy that had let him go, let him live his life because he couldn’t leave Max. Had stayed back in the small town he hated and dint think for a second to make Steve stay too because he loved him too much to keep him from his dreams.

This was the Billy that loved him like he didn’t think anyone ever could and Steve could never forget him because of that.

Steve pulls him in to the kiss and decidedly ignores the satisfied grin that meets him halfway. He tugs off his jean jacket and Billy mirrors him, hands on his belt, pulling it off and tugging his jeans open. Steve turns him, gently pressing him over the bonnet of the Camaro and pulls his jeans down his ass. Billy complies happily, still grinning, head turned to look back at Steve as his curls splay across the shining blue bonnet.

Steve pulls himself out of his boxers and spits into his hand, pumping himself and rubbing it across the crease of Billy’s ass. When he presses in to the tight, familiar heat he leaned forwards and Billy’s eyes slide closed contentedly. He brushes the curls away from his neck and pressed an open mouthed kiss against the corner, where he had kissed Billy millions of times before because it was his favourite spot. Billy melts in to the touch and a hand comes around to the small of Steve’s back and rubs gentle, reassuring circles in to his skin beneath his sweater.

When he is seated inside him again Steve feels something in his chest twist and uncurl, a weight he hadn’t even realised he had been carrying lifts off his shoulders and he loses himself in this guy once more.

“Billy,” he pants out into sweet smelling curls.

His hand drops onto the bonnet and Billy laces their fingers together, “Steve,” he breathes softly and Steve feels like finally, _finally_ , he is home.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Ian and Mickey reunion scene from Shameless! 
> 
> I might continue this, i have a few ideas for Steve coming back to Hawkins and reuniting with everyone after ten years and seeing how everyone's lives have gone on without him. We shall see!


End file.
